My Deepest Wish
by LeonardKnight
Summary: Heckler realizes he has feelings for a certain pink salesman. Will he be able to let it out or will he allow the guilt to consume him? Finally revised and edited to make it better. Title change. Sixth chapter now up if anyone wants to read.
1. Together with You

As the sun slowly sinks from the sky above, the moon moved through eerie silence to take its place, casting its dark shadow on the island. In the distance, two figures walked side by side, meandering along the sidewalk. One of them had short pointed ears, an oval shaped nose, a wide mouth with large fangs, and a bowtie imprint on his body. Officially, he was classified as Experiment 322 — though he much preferred his assumed name, Heckler. His friend and companion was Experiment 020, who had grown to like the name Slick. Slick was a fast-talking, pink dog-like experiment, with a purple nose and two ebony eyes under a straw boater hat — and a bowtie of his own.

They had met during a raucous set of events known as the "Leroy Incident." While many of their cousins would later speak about it in hushed tones, Heckler and Slick were much more vociferous. It had been a difficult time, for sure. Yet, without this incident, they may never have become a nigh inseparable duo who were eager to hang out as frequently as they could. Out of that chaos, an incredible friendship had formed, and as the moon rose to its place high above the island, they chuckled on their wayward walk.

Earlier, they had together decided that they had earned a day off from their one true place, and so roamed the town for a little breath of fresh air, enjoying the accompanying serenity. As the day concluded, the noise emanating from the town subsided, and most of the locals started to head home. Finally, there were fewer people around to heckle, and the urge for Heckler to carry out his intended purpose diminished.

Their meandering took them to a nearby ice cream parlor. Slick fulfilled his purpose by negotiating an end-of-day two-for-one deal on triple-scoop cones. While the ice cream scooper busied himself with his job, something about the place brought up a feeling in Heckler. A feeling for someone. Slick grabbed the cones out of the messy hands of the scooper, and Heckler contemplated whether he should finally let out his true feelings for his friend.

"I want to…but I just can't seem to…" he muttered softly. Every fiber of his being yearned to speak, and he feared that he might lose control, and along with it, his deep and close friendship. But, saying what needed to be said was all he ever wanted. Control and fear, though, had locked the words away in his mind, and he had decided to keep it that way.

Even when the words surfaced, when he had steeled his nerves and was ready to speak, an insult tumbled out every time. After all, he was designed for insults, with the capability of destroying enemy morale. Had it been anyone else right now, he would have already cussed them out. But this was different. His companion wasn't an enemy — it was someone he truly cared about. One insult, and everything could fall apart.

This uncontrollable desire bothered Heckler to no end. The endless streams of questions flooded his mind, taunting him to the point where he could not control it. Turbulent thoughts drew a frown on Heckler's face that stubbornly refused to leave, even after he had eaten the first of three scoops.

Despite Heckler's mind sitting on the verge of exploding, it was Slick who spoke first. "Hey Bud, you've been silent the whole time we've been walking together. Anything bothering ya, chap?" 020 softly patted Heckler's head.

That did little to help Heckler's brain, which was nearly bursting by this point. Confusion and fear tied his tongue for a few moments, and Slick began to stare. So, Heckler expertly hid his sullen mood behind a goofy smile. "Me? I'm ok, fine as dandy!"

"Hmm…I can feel something is occupying your mind. Maybe we could find a bench to sit on and, y'know, talk this out as friends," Slick replied innocently.

Friends…the word fired through his mind. It shot around the farthest corners and pierced through his skull and bounded around his body. He felt his heart shatter before it reached his stomach, roiling the pit of insecurity that had lingered for so long. Those times where he thought their friendship could develop into something more…had they all been wrong? Friends…nothing more.

Slick nudged Heckler's tensed shoulders. "Hello, you still there?"

Heckler's eyes had been glued to the pavement as "friends" did its damage, ignoring Slick's presence; but, eventually, Heckler grunted. "Sorry, Slick. There's just…a lot of things going right now."

"Well then, we'd better hurry now and find that special spot!" Slick suddenly snatched Heckler's closest arm, and yanked him through the entrance to the park.

Heckler tried in vain to break apart from his pal's grip, and then opted to talk his way out. "Hey, let go, you're hurting it ya big lunkhead!" he spat. Slick let go, and Heckler rubbed the sore spots and occasionally winced in pain as they stood in the park.

"Does it hurt?" Slick asked with a disappointed frown.

"I'm sorry, what? Does it hurt?!" Heckler was snarky with his reply. "Are you completely stupid — you almost broke my arm, moron! Yeah…it hurts, Slick."

"Hey, there's no need to be rude. I'm just trying to help—"

"You wanna help? Then keep your words to yourself, sales boy!" Heckler didn't mean to snap, but his irritation had assumed control and with a head already filled with fearful thoughts, harsh words had slipped out, even though they felt wrong as they left his mouth.

Slick blinked. And at that moment, Heckler knew he had gone too far. Anger started to melt away, leaving behind a quagmire of self-pity in which to wallow. He knew he would be unable to take it all back. But he tried nonetheless.

"Hey, I didn't mean to…I mean I just…I was…" Heckler rambled random words, softer and meeker than before.

"Heckler, please — stop!" Slick shouted, interrupting the flow of the conversation.

Heckler had slogged through the quagmire, only to get stuck at the end. Tears were now welling in the corners of his eyes, "Look Slick, I didn't mean to — to do it on purpose." A few sniffles followed while Heckler cleared some of the tears from his eyes.

Slick sighed. "It's alright, don't worry about it. Besides, we all know it's kinda part of your programming. And there ain't nothing wrong with that!" Slick assured before straightening his posture and his bowtie. "Now, since this is partially my fault, and thus my responsibility, could you maybe let me examine your arm?"

Heckler extended his trust along with his arm for Slick's examination. "It's like you stuck a needle in my arm," Heckler joked as Slick inspected. And as it progressed, Heckler held his gaze on Slick's large hands, which were warm and tender as they slowly crept into the soft, orange fur of Heckler's right arm, leaving behind the lightest of touches. Heckler couldn't take his eyes off Slick, but he consciously broke from the trance inspired by large warm hands.

'What's the point in doing all of this,' burbled Heckler's usual pessimism. 'There's no chance that Slick will ever have feelings for me — it's just ridiculous.' Yet optimism had other ideas. 'I have to give it a go; take it before I lose that chance. I'm sure Slick will open up somehow. I just know it's there inside of him.'

"Looks like your arm will be fine, no permanent damage as far as I can tell," reported Slick as he gently released Heckler's arm.

Heckler was overjoyed. "Thanks Slick. Hah, y'know, I thought I was gonna lose an arm. And, uh, I hope you weren't butthurt over the things I said," he floated while, as he expected, his cheeks flushed a deep red.

Slick smiled, and Heckler wondered what his friend felt. He hoped for…something. Maybe a flutter in his heart, some collection of pride, awe, and accomplishment. Maybe something that could blossom into more. Heckler shied away, desperate for his cheeks to relinquish their reddened glow.

"You probably had a bad day," Slick guessed, "but I suppose — if you're up for it , that is — that we can chat a bit on what's been bothering you, little buddy."

In the pale moonlight, Heckler could barely disguise his glee. He had to concentrate to look stern and somber. "Well…alright, let's go. We can sit over there if you want. There's no one here but the two of us." He pointed toward the leftmost of a row of benches beneath the swaying branches of a large tree. As Slick headed onward, Heckler bounded behind.


	2. My Secret Love

They walked a couple of yards before they arrived at the bench. A flickering streetlamp cast anemic light from across the pavement. Heckler didn't mind the lack of lighting — better to hide his ruddy cheeks. "Can we sit here?" Heckler pointed to the metal seats, glimmering in the weak light with their fresh coats of paint.

"Hmm, normally I wouldn't pick one so…well-loved. But — and I should've told you earlier — I'm pretty sure this is actually one of the benches that one of our cousins recently rebuilt. So I think it'll be fine." Slick sighed contentedly as he rested his bum on the painted metal.

Heckler stayed standing, right on the edge of the streetlamp's reach. "Okay, now that we found our spot, I don't suppose you can help me out with my problems?" he nearly whispered, afraid that even in the dead of night, someone might hear.

"No problem," Slick answered while locking eyes with Heckler. "But first, come sit with me, chap." He patted the empty spot on the bench next to him. Heckler took a seat in it, his feet only inches off the ground, and began twiddling his claws almost immediately. Slick pointed out the nervous tic, and Heckler sat on his hands.

They talked for a while about nothing in particular — Heckler needed time to rally his courage. Past the streetlamp's paltry light, and the pale moonbeams, Heckler could see how full of stars the sky was. He sensed the light breeze sweeping through the park, rustling each hair on his face. They both looked toward the playground, and watched an empty swing sway with the breeze. And heard it groan with each movement.

The swing's squeaky hinges drove Heckler nuts. His mind perceived the threat, and he was preparing a volley of insults when he found Slick gazing intently at the swing. Ebony eyes followed the chain as it swished through the air, catching and reflecting the occasional moonbeam. Heckler, through sheer force of will, kept his insults to himself. The wind eventually died down.

"So what did ya really want to talk about?" Slick finally inquired.

Heckler buried his blushing cheeks under his paws. "Well, I was kind of hoping that — y'know, you, uh, could give me some advice."

Heckler knew he had confused his friend. Slick tipped his bowler hat and scratched the fur underneath. "Advice? Whad'ya mean? Advice about what?" Slick's hands flung around in his typically dramatic gesticulation.

"About…someone….I've had…feelings…for?" Heckler selected his words carefully. "If that's okay with you, of course."

If Slick were still confused, Heckler couldn't tell. The salesman's smile lit up more brightly than the streetlamp and the moon. "Ah, some advice on aloha, I see."

Heckler furrowed his brow. "Aloha?" He had heard the girl use that word plenty of times, but never to talk about something like this. "Is your brain going soft? That means hello!"

Slick seemed to let the jab flow off him, and he sat and chuckled. "Ah, aloha means quite a few different things. One of those things is love."

"Ah." Heckler didn't want to show it, but he was terribly impressed with Slick's knowledge.

"Yep, you learn a few things when you walk the island, doing what I do. So anyway, who's this girl you have feelings for?" he teased with an elbow.

'Well…' Heckler's head hemmed. He knew it wasn't about a female experiment, but he certainly couldn't let that slip to Slick just yet. He needed an answer, and he needed it to be a girl. Off the cuff, he spat out, "Belle!"

"Belle?" Slick tapped his corner of his mouth with a thoughtful claw. "But, you can't be with her, she's with Yaarp."

"Uh—no, no! They broke up a month ago, remember?" Fortunately, Heckler's recollection of town gossip was spot-on.

"Oh yeah, I recall that moment. She broke up with him because Yaarp was always too busy to spend time with her. Oh, and when she told Yaarp, he wouldn't come out of his room for days. Poor chap was completely devastated."

"Yeah, just like me," Heckler involuntarily blurted out. Luckily, he had kept it to a low whisper.

"I'm sorry…what?" A few silent moments passed while Slick waited for a reply.

"Uh, nothing! Just…yeah." Heckler hoped the smile would look real enough in the dark.

Slick seemed to buy it. "Hmm, still, even if she's available, you ought to tread carefully, Heckler. Sounds like you should keep it hush-hush. Ku'u ipo huna — yeah, that's what you should go with."

For a few key seconds of the conversation, Heckler had been distracted by a strangely alluring glint in Slick's ebony eyes. The moonlight far above trickled through the tree branches, over the fronds, and mixed with the streetlamp's glow, all of which pooled in those ebony orbs. The glint traveled whenever Slick gesticulated to make his point, forcing Heckler to delightedly chase after it. It took a few absentminded blinks before Heckler could stammer something out. "…ku-ah-what now?"

Slick's laugh sent a pleasant little shiver racing down Heckler's spine. "No-no, ku'u ipo huna. It means 'my secret love.' It's a term of endearment. When you don't want anyone to know who it is, or what's going on, this is to keep it a secret. Learned this one from some odd old woman in town, can't think of her right offhand…."

'Ku'u ipo huna…' Heckler's mind repeated after Slick. The words flowed naturally. 'I'm used to keeping a secret.' Heckler reclined as Slick continued.

Their conversation rolled on, with Slick giving Heckler several tips on how win over their female counterparts. Heckler gave his best effort to pay attention, only getting distracted by the ebony eyes a few times. Slick mentioned a couple of his own concerns — what they were, Heckler couldn't say. But by the end, both guys were comforting each other and were patching each other up. Heckler was relieved to discover that Slick understood his problems, and would help him through thick and thin — even after an undeserved insult or two. The moon crawled a few degrees in the sky before they got up from the bench and roamed around the park. Some more pleasantries, and then they mutually agreed to call it a night.

"And don't worry, I'll always be here." Slick sounded so assuring. He put his arm around Heckler and pulled him close for a friendly hug.

"Thanks, Slick." Heckler smiled a genuine smile. They were quiet for some time. The wind picked up. The swing squeaked loudly. And they busted out laughing. They were two friends, forgetting their problems, even for just a short while.

After the giggles diminished, Slick readjusted his bowler hat. "Well it's late, Kumu and Yaarp are probably worried sick with wondering where I am." He chuckled. "I remember the last time I came home late, Kumu almost called the cops, and they had already rounded up half a search party."

"Hah! Oh wow, that is awesome. Then don't let me stop you from getting going. Don't want a full search party this time." Slick laughed again, and Heckler's spine tingled again. "Yes, I suppose…though before we do that, how 'bout giving your ol' pal Slick one last hug, yeah?" Slick opened his arms wide. Heckler affixed his own smile as he ran up and gave Slick a huge bear hug. Slick's large arms were tighter than he had imagined.

"Can't—breathe—" Heckler squealed. Slick laughed and let him go, and both smiled more brightly than the streetlamp and the moon. As they waved goodbye and headed toward opposite ends of the street, Heckler thought he heard the swing squeak, despite the wind having died down, and he definitely thought a shadow had shifted when he looked back.

But once he looked back, Heckler only saw Slick as he rounded the corner of some one-story building. His heart had stopped when Slick waved goodbye at him, and Heckler hoped to restart it with the right words. He imagined running down Slick and delivering those words. Unfortunately, they never manifested. Heckler stood frozen at the corner of his street for a long while, wondering when those words would finally appear, and what would happen when they did.

Heckler's legs did start working, and after a lengthy walk, he finally arrived home to his townhouse, absolutely exhausted from the day's physical, mental, and emotional toils.

"I messed up," he mumbled as a warrior coming home defeated. "Guess I'll probably tell him the truth when I'm ready."

His preparations for bed were filled with thoughts on their conversation at the park. He replayed every foible, every faux pas. Each insult he had let slip stung his tongue as they came back into his mind. He was not entirely sure how he would fix them — or if they could even be fixed at all. Heckler slapped his forehead and just barely stifled his groan.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid me!" was all he could utter before he delivered a swift kick to his bedroom door. "Yow!" he hollered in pain, jumping up and down while nursing his right foot.

He had no one but himself to blame — he recognized that truth. But his deep regret wouldn't hinder his affection for Slick. Had he acted sooner, he realized, this whole mess could have been avoided. 'You wouldn't need to be ku'u ipo huna anymore.'

Regret did pass during his bedtime preparations. His heart beat stronger, more resolved, as he crossed his room, hobbling a bit on a wounded right foot. "Well, you know what they say: If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again," Heckler reassured himself before he clambered into his bed.

Under the covers, he grew increasingly confident that the chubby salesman was the one he was looking for. 'Sure, I have some other options,' Heckler thought as he ran through a list of the other male experiments. They each had something special to bring, but none of them were as special as Slick. As Heckler tossed and turned, he tried to narrow down what exactly drove him wild about Slick. 'That southern accent…something that no else can perfectly emulate.' Heckler was sure it had to be more complicated than that, but under the covers, with sleep approaching, he figured the accent alone was enough for him to separate Slick from the rest of their trog brethren.

His head huddled on top of the pillow, sleep did catch up to him. "I'll find a way, eventually," he murmured. "I will, ku'u ipo huna."


	3. An Outcast

Before anything else, I want to say thanks for the reviews from the previous chapters. I admit it wasn't easy making these things in the first place. When I was editing this chapter I almost lost count on how many times I had to redo this, making sure the story was believable and managed to connect the previous chapters together. Basically I wanted to keep everyone in character as much I could. I took me a long time to finish it. Although I still have little doubt whether I should put this one up. But oh well. might as well strike while the iron is hot. Can't keep you guys waiting for long.

So I hope you all enjoy this next one.

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The clock struck midnight and one.

A strong, cold breeze swept through the small windows in the room, the gossamer curtains swaying along with it. Erratic breathing and quiet whimpers resonated from Heckler as his mind slipped the surly bonds of reality.

He stepped into a vast darkness. The sense of foreboding followed right behind. He didn't quite understand how he ended up here. The darkness was unnerving. Surreal, crushing, dark — he felt lost. The only thing that comforted him was the sound of his own two feet tapping on…ground? 'What is all this?'

The darkness shimmered. Hairs stood on end as the wind rushed. His paws clung to his elbows. His mind clung to sanity.

"Hello, is anyone here?" he squinted at where the shimmer had been, now an empty patch of space. 'Something is definitely out there.'  
The laughter rose from nowhere. Childish, innocent, and yet, menacing. Footsteps, regular and terrifying, clacked from all around. 'I'm not alone.' Whispers disturbed the still air.

"Slick…you there?"

Whispers loudened. He turned, and from everywhere, random voices spoke and echoed. In the corner of his eye, a figure stood at a distance, its enormous dark eyes — seemingly lit from within — locked onto him. Heckler chanced a few steps, leaning for a clearer look. "Slick?"

His examination proved fruitful. Not one, but several entities, watched him with great interest. Heckler blinked, ensuring he cleared any lies from his eyes. They still stood. He furrowed his brow, irritated that he failed to make out any of their features.

He snarled as he planted his feet and raised his fists. He hoped they would leave on their own. When they stubbornly refused, he did his best to hide his fear. Though his voice cracked a bit, he got out his threat. "Whoever you are…I—I'm warning you, stop right there."

From somewhere— maybe above, or below, or within — a faint light grew to illuminate a mostly empty room, infinite yet constrained. Ahead, the figures were resolving. Heckler could see what had lurked in the dark. Slowly but surely, the entities were revealed to be the experiments — his cousins, his ohana. And as the light grew, they drew nearer. Soon, Heckler was mobbed with his cousins. He scanned the crowd. A few of them sported arched brows or pursed lips. Heckler tried to pick out Slick, but the boater hat was conspicuously absent.

"Hey guys, what's with the funny faces? Someone rainin' on your parade?" he jabbed to ease the strange tension he sensed. That failed.

Bonnie was the first to speak — inquisitorial and harsh. "Oh no, now first of all, you need to shut your yap. Second, we should be the one asking questions. Like…what exactly made you fall in love with a male cousin?" Bonnie smirked as the words smacked Heckler.

"Wait a sec, guys…y—you think I'm gay? You're joking, right?" A giggle bubbled up from the brew of vexation and terror boiling in his gut.

"Hey homo, you don't need to hide it anymore. Just admit you're a fag. Go ahead, get on with it," Nosy snorted, his disgust palpable.

Heckler tried his best not to look bothered by Nosy's tripe. "Now try not to get insulted here, but that nose of yours is so big, it keeps blowing itself into other people's business." Heckler adjusted his posture. "And for your information, I'm still straight as a stick."

Heckler had tried his best, and thought he had done an adequate job. Yet, as he looked over the crowd, he knew one particular experiment could ruin his fabrication. And, sure enough, the buzz tore through the group. Fibber, on Heckler's periphery, rushed to center stage, and buzzed again for good measure.

"Well then, Pants on Fire. And don't waste your breath protesting. Fibber is never wrong," declared Bonnie. "So, what to do about you, liar…."

The mob of his cousins swelled. They started shouting. The room rapidly filled with a din of denigration.

"You disgust me" cried out Gigi.

"Dirty, dirty, dirty!" Felix decreed.

It was a rarity for Heckler to be left speechless. He never told anyone about himself in that way, and he wondered how the cousins had even found out. The more he thought, the more questions were raised that he himself didn't want to answer.

He stood quiet and dumbfounded, while all of them were shouting, screaming, filling the room with noise. They clenched their hands and raised their fists. He was curious if this was what it felt like to be a criminal, to be truly and utterly despised. He had been outed, exposed, and in a matter of moments, everyone that he knew and loved had viciously shunned him.

"Looks like I have a lot to explain, but seeing that you all wouldn't understand…eh, screw y'all then!" Despite their anger, when he approached them, a path started to clear itself. A deep breath, and he entered.

He made his way through the mob. Words like "queer" and "fag" pummeled him from the onset. But, perhaps worst of all, were the ones who said nothing. The cousins who shared the title of ohana with him now looked away, turned their backs, and kept to themselves. The silence crushed him more profoundly than any word ever could.

The path was winding, and he wasn't quite sure of where he was headed. Over time, as he wandered, he realized the path had transformed into a maze. At each dead end or wrong turn, a cousin would laugh hysterically mere inches from Heckler's face. The labyrinth of mockery spun him around and ground him down.

"Jumba didn't make any gay experiments. You should have been nuked," shouted Clyde when Heckler reached the middle of the mob.

"Yeah! Stop lying and do us all a favor will ya!" Ace added before trying to shove a gleaming kitchen knife into Heckler's unwilling hands.

Heckler dodged the utensil. But he could not dodge Angel. Her haymaker of a slap left a deep welt on his cheek. "Naga isa homo!"

Heckler had barely started to rub the mark on his face before Manners stepped in front and ridiculed him in proper fashion. "You are a very ill-mannered individual. As a fellow experiment, I pity you."

The tears were nearly impossible — painful, even — to hold back. "Stop! Please stop!" Heckler demanded. "You guys don't know me! You don't understand…."

The crowd parted as a large figure bumbled toward him. Heckler was too drained to protest as Jumba halted a few feet ahead. He launched his weary body at the scientist, seeking comfort from his creator. Relief surged in his gut. He knew that the experiments, all Jumba's creations, would listen to him and his reason. But relief was premature. Heckler had just latched onto the scientist's meaty leg before Jumba kicked him off into open ground, alone.

"You are not my creation! My experiments are not f*** like you! You are a real…blech, a stinkaroo of a design!"

He had toiled through the gauntlet, only to be rejected by the gatekeeper. By his creator. Heckler finally snapped. "What! Are you kidding me!"

"I am not being kidding. If you want to be accepted as ohana, you must choose female experiment, not male." Jumba bordered on pedantic. "Is better that way for you. Trust your creator."

Heckler was aghast. His mouth hung open as he slowly backed away. The relief hardened and sunk. He felt sick. Alone in the circle, surrounded by spite, he fell to his knees and covered his face in shame.

Jumba, his creator, the one who had designed him down to the very last gene, had rejected him. Blood chilled in Heckler's veins. He shuddered as he spoke up. "Jumba…I, how could you?"

Jumba seemed to pay Heckler no mind. By now, he was prodding the rest of the experiments to action. "Come now, my little creations. Let us all be putting the hurt on him."

"Yeah, let's straighten him out." Knuckles cracked and muscles tensed. Heckler's eyes went wide.

They all erupted in terrible laughter, having been given freedom by their creator to spread infectious malice. Several experiments tossed heavy looks of disgust at him. Others unleashed curses in their native Tantalog tongue. The cacophony swelled with the mob.

"This won't end well." Heckler buckled down and prepared for the worst.

And the worst was delivered swiftly. Kixx struck first, leaving an indelible welt on Heckler's back. He refused to cry out, to satisfy his cousins' awful cravings. But, after several — many — more hits, his breathy grunts took on more substance.

His back was not alone in the suffering. When Kixx got bored, he went in front of Heckler and kicked and punched his chest and stomach. Again and again, the blows were delivered. Heckler held out for a time — he was even a bit surprised by how long it was — before his grunts devolved into screams. Like moths drawn to flame, they descended on his screams with flying fists and feet. The beating was severe, truly brutal. But Heckler refused to pass out, to give up.

Those who kept their fists to themselves still mercilessly mocked Heckler. The shouts and screeches filled his ears. Were he not being kicked in the stomach, and his back, and all over, it may have been the perfect time to put his programmed skills to use. However, even a whimper from Heckler was greeted with a hit.

But others employed their programmed skills with fervor. Sparky unleashed his electrical powers and endlessly zapped Heckler with a web of lightning. Elastico used his elastic ability to transform into a slingshot, which PJ then loaded with egg pies, dousing Heckler in filling and crumbs. The room had been empty, devoid of anything beyond the cruelty of his cousins; yet, rocks had found their ways into some cousins' hands. Heckler could hear the stones bruising his bones.

When the crowd finally — blessedly — drew back, the experiment tried not to shudder. The heap of broken bones and bruised flesh lay crumpled on the cold floor. He was cowering in sheer terror, too shocked — and too scared — to even move a muscle, numbed to the room around him.

For a well deserved cruel finale, several experiments doused the already weakened experiment with a bucket of ice cold water. Heckler could not stop himself from shivering due to the gellid temperature of the water that awashed his whole body.

_'I guess it was my fault. I didn't give them much reason to think otherwise,'_ a voice whimpered in his head. _'Still, they could have been more patient, more forgiving, more accepting.'_

All of it was too much to bear. Numbness spread along his limbs, to the tips of fingers and toes. As feeling evacuated his body, the experiments evacuated the room. One by one, they disappeared into nothing, into encroaching darkness. His vision blurred, gossamer curtains pulled over his eyes. His head, and the room, spun, faster and faster. Dizzy, ill, Heckler stayed on the ground, and let the darkness pour over him.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. A Friend's Advice

I gotta say this is the longest one I've made without any mention or dialogue of Stitch in it, just saying. Although Lilo is mentioned here once.

* * *

Chapter 4

The ringing — he knew it. Recognized the bells. The alarm clock sitting on the counter. That's when instinct finally kicked in.

Heckler jolted. His eyes flew open, and he was breathing heavily, sheening with sweat. The clock's chime had broken the bonds of his terrible nightmare.

Even when he sat up to draw in more air, Heckler still found himself gasping. His stomach knotted as images from the nightmare latched onto his mind. Bad memories lingered. He tried to relax. And slowly, he did, clearing away the dense misted veil of an unsavory dream.

"Oh—what a nightmare!" Heckler shivered. He tossed away his bedspread and scanned the room in earnest, just to be sure. There was no one else with him, and so he took a moment to soak in the surroundings of reality.

After months of saving and hard work, Heckler was finally able to lease a townhouse, and vacate the old rustic apartment type he previously owned. Truth be told, he did love this one better, especially for its amenities like beige-painted walls and a balcony overlooking the sea. The living room area was quite spacious. It had a brown wooden floor, a fireplace, a three seated leather couch, and a 36" flat screen TV. His kitchen was a bit smaller, but still well furnished with a single door fridge with ice and water dispenser, and a hidden door that let into a bathroom.

Clutching the disheveled hair on top of his head, he let out a groan.

"Thank goodness it was just a dream…there's no way I would have survived all that beating." He exhaled in relief. Even though he knew it was only a nightmare, his subconscious recognized what Heckler tried to doubt — most of the experiments, if not all of them, would probably deem homosexuality unacceptable. Yet, even though humiliation at the hands of his cousins loomed at nearly every turn, Heckler had learned how to be comfortable with himself and his sexual orientation, so much so that lying about being gay had become natural. _After all, the first step is always admitting that you actually are what you are, _he would tell himself on many occasions.

For sure, Heckler recognized that coming out would not be an easy task, one that came complete with its own set of problems. But, that would be something the cousins would need to come to terms to, whether they'd like it or not. If anyone would really need to know, though…Slick would be the first one to find out. Heckler had determined that early on. There was certainly no way he'd let Slick find out from another source — the mere thought of the rumor mill spoiling it always churned Heckler's stomach.

For all of it to happen perfectly, just as he envisioned, Heckler would need an elaborate scheme, and the exact right moment to confess everything. Perhaps with a little naiveté, Heckler hoped his revelation would not divide, but instead bring the whole ohana closer together despite the differences. Less naively, Heckler knew the chances of that happening were nearly zero.

Lost in his thoughts, silence filled the empty room. A sunbeam poked through gossamer curtains and struck Heckler's eye. He shied away, over to the now quiet clock, and glanced at the time. He jumped out of bed, cursing profusely.

"Its 7:00," he gasped. "I'd better hurry, or I'll be late to my one true place."

Heckler worked at a dunk tank in a carnival provoking people to hit a tiny target — a mostly honest way to earn a living. Heckler was undeniably grateful to have been given a purpose in life, and one that so closely aligned with his innate and burning desire to insult people.

"It's going to be a long day," he grumbled as he made his way to the bathroom door, and leaped into the shower. Not long after, he threw on the standard red T-shirt with the phrase "DUNK ME!" plastered on the front. He hurriedly grabbed his backpack and keys, and dashed out of his home.

"I'd better not forget to lock the door again, Lilo reminded me three times already…don't want to give her the satisfaction of a fourth. I just can't stand it when I'm instructed. It's like telling a dog to lay here, fetch that..." Heckler huffed. He inserted the key and the tumblers clicked, which elicited a dampened sigh from the experiment. "Who am I kidding… I wish someone were here to remind me every day."

By the time he reached the fairgrounds, the sunlight was bright, the typical Kaua'i day. Heckler was waved on by security with a "Go on kid" from the guard, and he bolted through the entrance. Ahead stood the large, round, transparent tank, already set up for the day's work. The original dunk tank was a rickety mess that threatened a nasty tetanus infection with each game. Thankfully, Jumba had carved out some time to work on it. Now clean and sleek, Heckler felt much more comfortable plunking down into the tiny seat atop the clear water. A plastic shield guarded him to make sure nobody who dared could unduly pelt the tank's occupant.

He ran toward the back to prepare for work.

"Morning Heckler, how's your day going? Whoa! Tense much? Looks like you could use some encouragement," offered Jeff, concern thick in his voice.

Jeff, Heckler's friend and co-worker, stood around 5'8", and in his late 30's. He was a far more competent salesman than Heckler, and Jeff earned his keep by bringing in the customers, encouraging them to dunk Heckler — which, when Heckler was warmed up, was not an exceedingly difficult task to accomplish.

"Hey, I'm fine," Heckler returned with a smile. "Wait—hold on, how many customers are already waiting?"

"None actually. In fact, you got here before everyone else. Well done kid!" he commended

A little laugh escaped Heckler's belly. "Hey, thanks Jeff…and sorry for being tense, I'll tell you all about it later."

"Oh sure, no worries. Anything to help a friend like you." Heckler's cheeks flushed, and he hid his head while he walked to the tank.

He hoisted himself up the ladder and took his position while Jeff managed to snag a handful of customers. He couldn't contain his excitement at the prospect of ridiculing passersby. Over time, he had learned how to control his insults and target them, in stark contrast to the scattershot approach he had taken upon activation. Nonetheless, he felt the same thrill course through his nerves.

"Hey Folks," boomed Jeff's salesman voice, "you wanna know how good you can hit? Then come on out and try dunking this little guy if you can for only 4 dollars per ball. That's right, just 4 dollars a ball. Come on, show 'em what you're made of and knock him down!"

Occasionally, Heckler jumped in to assist. "Alright people, who wants a piece of me? Just read what's on my shirt and you'll know what to do."

To coerce some suckers to try the dunk tank, Heckler launched his first insult of the day at a bespectacled and freckled lady with gleaming gray braces.

"Hey lady, you're so ugly, you'd make a freight train take a dirt road!" She flinched but walked on by. Normally, Heckler would spend a few minutes staring into his bathroom mirror, running a few lines and seeing how they delivered. Cold turkey, he had noticed, usually didn't fare so well.

But he did warm up, slower than usual. He scored his first client, a tanned gentleman with a muscular build sporting a sapphire blue Mohawk, with an improvised ditty set to one of his personal favorites, "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

"Hey there big head with blue hair,

hope there's still a brain in there,

But I doubt that would be so,

Cuz you dropped that long ago."

Twenty dollars' worth of balls and two more verses later, Heckler was still dry.

A spoiled bratty girl whined her way to two misses. Displeased with her own performance, she gave Heckler an undue raspberry as she dragged her father toward the candy vendor. "Hey Daddy, didn't you read the sign up front? Don't feed the animals!"

She was quickly followed by a jersey-wearing jock who couldn't come up with a good comeback to his insults. "Don't worry, someday you'll say something smart— evolution's just a slow process," Heckler shouted after his flailing mad client.

A lady who had caked on a tad too much make-up had a few bucks to burn. "Hey gorgeous, Bozo the clown called, he needs his face paint back for the three-ring circus act." She laughed, surprisingly enough, and then promptly missed.

Even a female tourist visiting the island was not spared from his rampage. "Y'know, brains aren't everything in this world. But in your case, they're nothing!" He burst out laughing when her throw went wild and slammed into his plastic shield.

The insults went on and on, tossed out at the short and the tall, the old and the young, practically every visitor to the island fair. The anticipation built as the person threw each ball, the suspense in seeing if it would hit nearly unbearable. Heckler sat there and almost braced himself each time. It was fun in its own way.

But, the fun would run out, as the sunset was fast approaching. So far only a total of three participants managed to hammer home a bull's eye and put Heckler in the water. They included a seven year old boy, a thirty year old blonde woman sporting a sun hat and, most shockingly, a frail old lady who must have been either extremely lucky or a talented baseball player in another life.

"Take that you knucklehead!" The old lady rejoiced after sending him plunging in the gelid water — Jumba's upgrades had included a coolant system to keep the water frosty under the hot Kaua'i sun.

"Hmm, that old lady threw better than I expected," Heckler murmured as he climbed out of the tank. The old lady escaped any further commentary from him, lest he quickly be put back in the water.

He saved the last insult of the day for a hairy man wearing a sleeveless undershirt who tossed a few lazy pitches. "Whoa! Good to know I wasn't the furriest one at the fair today."

Once Jeff announced the hairy man would be the last customer of the day, the crowd finally dispersed, eagerly bounding toward the other attractions. The experiment hopped down from his seat and plodded over to Jeff, who was picking up some stray litter strewn about the ground.

"Now that is what I call hard work!" Heckler exclaimed while wiping his face with a towel that had been slung over the side of the tank. "So Jeff, if you be so kind as to hand me my backpack, I think I'll be heading home."

"Hold on there!" Jeff showed Heckler his palm. "You forgot to tell me why you were so tense this morning. Come on, spit it out."

Heckler paused, feeling a little bit uneasy. He looked into Jeff's surprisingly soulful eyes. Though they had seemed a bit glossy as of late, in the setting sun they gleamed with a keen intellect, and Heckler knew he wouldn't be able to lie to Jeff.

"Umm, well I don't know how to put this, but…" he stared at a crushed Styrofoam cup Jeff had missed on the ground and watched its cracked lip flutter gently. Heckler needed a deep breath, but eventually and nervously, he turned on his heel to face Jeff.

A pat on his shoulder surprised the experiment. "Well, what is it?" Jeff filled his voice with light-heartedness, an obvious friendly concern. Heckler wondered how long Jeff could keep that concern alive should he divulge the truth. It had him pacing back and forth, trying to string together the right words to explain everything. Jeff and his soulful eyes simply encouraged Heckler to continue.

"Okay…here goes," Heckler sighed, then spilled everything out in a slow but garbled voice. "You see, I'm in love with…someone of the same gender, a salesman working for charity." He took a deep breath as the Styrofoam cup skittered away with a short burst of wind. He, too, had begun to feel lighter. "So last night I almost told him my secret, but then I got so nervous that I lied to him, and now I'm not even sure he's going to like me when he finds out I'm not into girls at all, and…and if you don't approve of any of this, then just go..." his words were losing their footing, "dive in a pool or something." He angrily crossed his arms and wheeled away from Jeff.

A slight but noticeable pause seized the air as Jeff took a step back. His hands waving, Jeff said, "Woah, woah buddy, calm down, easy there, you didn't even bother to wait for my response"

"I already know what you'd tell me. You'd call me a freak or a hoe for falling in love with a guy. By now you'd probably…I dunno, smack me for saying those things."

Jeff knelt, eyes level with Heckler's. The experiment, normally so quick on his feet, suddenly felt lost. He could sense his fluency evaporating — more from the fear of Jeff's response more than anything. Heckler, it seemed, cared deeply about Jeff's opinion. So, it came as a great shock to Heckler when Jeff answered, "Don't be silly dude. In fact, the only advice I can give you is to be yourself — don't ever pretend to be somebody you're not. And, you should tell him the truth. I know it hurts to admit you lied to him, but trust me, it's even harder to get somebody's full trust back after you lied to their faces. Like it or not, that's the reality you'd have to face later on."

The shock of Jeff's answer wore off very quickly, and Heckler's words regained their balance, though they took on an edge of frustrated annoyance. "Easy for you to say, you don't have 625 cousins and a scientist who'd be grossed out if they found out you were gay. That, my friend, is a tall order!"

"Well—who cares what they think! If you love Slick the way you do, then who are they to stop you?"

In the middle of Jeff's imparting of wisdom, a sudden realization struck Heckler. He blinked confusedly, and his arms dropped to his sides. His voice was meeker, calmer. "…so you won't call me names, like fag, girly boy or rainbow bunny?"

Jeff appeared almost offended. "No! I certainly haven't, and I don't plan to anytime soon. I'd like to think I'm not some cruel soul who gets excited by criticizing others for something like this. I swear — I'm not lying to you," he affirmed while drawing a cross on his chest with his finger.

Shame overwhelming poured into Heckler, replacing the fleeing anger. The ground became his focus, as he couldn't bear to look into Jeff's eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."

A pat on the head. Heckler allowed himself a smile as Jeff spoke. "It's alright, no need for apologies!"

"Phew, I thought for a second there, I was going to lose another friend!" he let loose, the smile building.

"Well…" Jeff began slowly, his voice venturing into murkiness. "It looks like we both have our problems."

Heckler shrugged. "I suppose we do…." Words caught in Heckler's throat again as he noticed Jeff's incredibly serious expression. "But wait, Jeff…what's your problem?"

"Don't tell anyone about it. You see, I've never told anyone outside of my family about this, but for you, I'll make an exception. You need to promise me, though, to keep it a secret, okay?"

Heckler nodded eagerly in approval. "I assure you my lips are sealed tight."

Still kneeling, Jeff leaned in and quietly whispered into Heckler's ear. "I'm…sick."  
"Sick? Like, the flu, or…."  
Heckler knew it was serious. He hoped it wouldn't be, that Jeff would tell him it was the flu — a nasty bout of it, maybe, but something that would end soon. But Heckler knew, deep within himself, it would not be the case. When Jeff whispered again, the sounds burned the edges of Heckler's ears.

"How long?" Heckler replied softly, cocking his head to one side, holding it together as best as he could.

"Well, since about a year ago. Genetic anomaly, I found out. It all began when my grandmother died of colon cancer two years ago. I don't tell many people about it because it could cause them a lot of pain and sadness. Thankfully, I'm now in remission, I'm feeling better every day. And I'm positive that my next checkup on Saturday will be the last for a long time."

Heckler wanted to ask more — he had so many questions, and potentially very little time. But, immediately after entrusting Heckler with this great secret, Jeff turned his wrist and tapped his watch's face. "Well, I think I should be heading home, it's getting late."

Heckler managed a response, even if it sounded somewhat surprised. "Yeah…I think you're right." They began walking in opposite directions, and Heckler nearly had to shout when he thought of how to conclude. "Well, good luck on Saturday — I really hope it goes well, Jeff!"

"Thanks little buddy, and remember what I told you — be yourself!" Jeff smiled brightly and waved, then turned around and was quickly out of Heckler's sight.

Heckler stood in place, admiring the warm magenta of the setting sun. A beautiful sight he had not really watched in quite some time. He waited for a while, in no particular rush to head home. He was happy for the moment alone. And though Jeff was gone, his words lingered in humid evening breeze. "Be yourself…yeah, alright, thanks Jeff. I'll try."


	5. Rescued

The last bits of daylight had already escaped before Heckler admitted he was lost. The well-worn path to his townhouse had seemed so passé all of a sudden. Maybe it was Jeff's revelation that sent Heckler down a different route. Perhaps it was merely curiosity. Regardless, it didn't take long before he was miles away from the fair, and from anything familiar.

This particular street was totally foreign to him. Fortunately, he was able to suss out a direction and heading, and figured out a general way home. He tightened his grip on the backpack slung over his shoulder, and moved quietly through the dense darkness. From the other side of the road, he could hear someone rattling a change cup. The sound of destitution distracted him enough that he nearly bumped into the barely clothed women stumbling out of some bar. It was certainly an area unfamiliar to Heckler, in more ways than one.

Yet, Heckler did know that it was during nights like this when working women would mark random passersby on the street, targeting their potential clients with a typically keen eye. Usually, this road was busy enough to provide plenty of opportunities to ply their trade. On this night, however, Heckler listened to his own footsteps echo off the flat facades of the bordering buildings. The next thing he knew, a wave of women rushed up the empty road, eager to earn a few bucks. One blonde woman in particular stood forward as Heckler quickened his pace to escape the area.

"Hey cutie, what's your name?" her silky voice rose above the chatter of the bevy of young women, who were now spreading out along the length of the street.

He stopped, dead in his tracks. Something about her voice had him leaning on the dim lamppost next to him.

"Heckler," he offered to the blonde. "And what about yours?"

"Call me Veronica, sweetie."

The lady was wearing a halter top, paired with a leather skirt, and fishnet stockings down to her knees. Her face sported too much blush, and her lips glistened with something three shades too dark. Her five inch pumps ground the gravel underfoot as she surveyed her quarry.

_This lady needs a stylist badly,_ Heckler kept to himself.

Heckler knew what she wanted, but decided to play coy, more to interest himself than anything else. He slathered on a coating of sarcasm as he let out, "Nice name; so tell me, what exactly are you selling, honey?"

"Anything you want, baby." The voluptuous vixen licked her too-dark lips, thinking she had already sealed a deal with him.

Raising an eyebrow, Heckler ran with it. "Look, I don't have all night babe, so what's it gonna be?"

Though she wasn't put off, it was plain that the blonde was less enthused - perhaps she sensed her deal slipping away. "Shy one, aren't you? Well, how 'bout we go back to your place, and we can have a…little fun." With a coquettish wink, she bent down and purred, and ran a finger down his spine. "You look like you've worked too hard all day long. Trust me, I've…helped out a few like you before, darling. You just let me take care of you, okay?"

"Lady, I really wish I could. But I can't tonight, I've got stuff to do and work scheduled for tomorrow," he answered matter-of-factly, with a hint of annoyance. An obvious lie - Heckler knew that, and most likely, she did as well. That something about her voice had devolved into something uninviting and unappealing. Desperation, maybe.

"Oh, come on, I'm sure that can wait," Veronica pressed harder as she leaned in closer to him, her lips tickling his ear. "You're not living if you haven't tried it once. Let's do it, just you and me. Unless…you got a friend you wanna bring in. That'd be fine, too."

"Thanks, but I'll pass," his voice chilled.

She rolled her eyes in disbelief and took one more shot.

"Maybe after you've tried it, you might change your mind. Truth be told, I am the hottest girl this side of Kauai. Be a gentleman - don't hurt a lady's feelings." She teasingly blew in his ear.

"Yeah, whatever you say," Heckler remarked. "Truth be told, it will take more than a little caressing and dirty talk to get me to change my mind, capiche?"

With a muttered curse, the prostitute inhaled deeply and nodded in admission of defeat. Though she wasn't done quite yet. "Hmph, maybe girls aren't your thing..."

Took her two minutes to figure that out, Heckler's mind panicked. What about those who know me better?

"Oh well, you don't know what you're missing, honey." She stood up before walking away, unable to convince the tough little Experiment.

Heckler felt obliged to chase her with, "Oh, and one more thing: If I hurt your feelings in any way, I just want you to know - from the bottom of my heart - that I don't care!" He gave a little huff, which did not stir the blonde, who had already given him the cold shoulder and left. Heckler could swear he heard a few cheers in his head - perhaps satisfaction at not caving to some more primal desire. More confidently, Heckler figured that his true happiness would not be found in the arms of that woman of the night.

"Note to self, never pass by through this place again," he mumbled a self-scathing rebuke.

Rather than attracting more unwanted attention, Heckler turned right around and slinked in silence down Waa Road - a hidden street sign had instructed him. Ecstatic to make a hasty retreat for home, he kept moving past the strip clubs and dive bars, eschewing catcalls from more ladies.

In his haste to hide from the denizens of the night, Heckler missed Slick passing on the opposite corner of the street, a traveling salesman happily dragging his wagon of wares. It had been a long, though impressively fruitful, day for Slick. The fair had proven lucrative for the short time he had camped out there. Odds and ends were still stacked up in the wagon's bed, but Slick was lugging along a few more dollars than he had yesterday.

"Not a bad day," he congratulated his own work ethic.

He came upon an alley, nearly pitch black. But, there was enough light to draw the outlines of three men. As the wagon's wheels squeaked by, they emerged from the shadows, dressed in leather jackets, tight jeans and black shoes, and blocked his path.

"Hey punk, got something useful there?" one of the men interrogated. They were forming an awkward triangle around Slick's wagon. Something about the gentlemen made the salesman's spine tingle; however, Slick waived it, instead reverting to his natural programming to sell them his trinkets.  
"Hey there fellas, wanna buy some cool T-shirts? I've got several ones you'd probably like."

Slick dug into his wagon and emerged with several T-shirts containing different designs and logos. In his paw was a green shirt that read 'We Beat Cancer.'

"Or how 'bout this right here?" He pulled out a Dallas Lakers jersey. "I'm offering this gem for the low price of $4.99. Come and buy it while it lasts - money goes to help heal all cancer stricken children in the hospitals!" Slick slapped on the happiest grin he could muster in the middle of this strange gathering.

Though they were obviously uninterested in the tees, they did start to pick a fight with the salesman. "Five bucks a piece? For that? What do you take us for?" a short guy with a distinct Bostonian accent - quite out-of-place on Kauai - replied.

Slick sensed the conversation was souring at breakneck pace. His mental acumen enabled him to make several insights on what he was up against. Yet, this experiment's programming had him pass up on accepting the foreboding debacle. Or, more accurately, Slick preferred to avoid useless confrontation. And certainly, the last thing he wanted was to anger someone that could possibly do nasty things.

"Well, it is for charity…tell ya what, I'm willing to offer a discount for only 2.99, this time and this time only" he counter-offered, trying his best to conceal his rising concern.

"Hmm…nah, how's 'bout we transact business a little differently?"

Without warning, they hoisted his wagon and flung it against a large dumpster. The garbage bin pealed with a hollow and sickly sound. The wagon ejected its contents, scattering them through the alley and onto the street.

"Hey! That was expensive!" Slick shouted, angrily pointing to his damaged carrier.

"Yeah, but it's about to cost ya a whole lot more…" one guy ominously delivered as he cracked his knuckles.  
"Oh," the salesman started in swift understanding before he was slammed against a brick wall. His body went limp, and made a large thud as he was knocked to the ground.

"Wow, gentlemen…that was just…uncalled for…" Slick managed through groans of pain. The aches helpfully reminded Slick that his paranoid delusions had been right all along. His midnight customers had ended up being crooks ready to relieve him of his wares and cash. But instead of crying and begging for mercy, he kept his cool and looked up, hoping to snag a useful glimpse of his attackers. "I'm thinkin' you guys need to be put behind bars for this," he prodded while clutching the back of his swelling head.

"Grab his arms! I'll teach 'im a lesson!" the gang's leader commanded.

The other two goons restrained Slick by his wrists, clearing a larger target for their leader to land a few solid hits. Slick squirmed and tried to get away, but the bindings of angry gangsters held him fast. The gang leader grabbed at Slick's throat and, leering from above, he growled, "Listen to me, you son of a bitch. I'm tired of your damned useless junk, but that cash of yours looks mighty nice. Now you better give us what we want, or we'll teach you another lesson."

"Not a chance, bud" Slick protested without missing a beat. He still squirmed in a futile effort to flee.

"Oh, trying to piss me off, are you?" Slick was obviously getting to the gang's leader - sadly, the leader could also get to Slick. The first punch landed in the middle of his stomach. He flinched in pain. The second one landed on his right cheek. His head twisted with it. As one of the goons moved to the front, several more kicks and punches randomly fell. The last goon holding him finally let go, and Slick tumbled to the ground.

Almost delicately, they picked up Slick's straw boater hat, which had landed inches from his contused face. Their laughter and jeers hurt, but not as badly as when they unceremoniously crumpled his hat and flung it away into the cold night. "Psh, what a stupid hat."

Cruel laughter rang louder as Slick abruptly and clumsily - but resolutely - got to his feet. Slick had no choice now but defend himself right where he stood. There was no way he was going to let these guys win. _No turning back now._ He thought of saying something, but the gleam in his eyes said enough. The gang turned back to their mark.

One of the muggers snarled while he slowly pulled a butterfly knife from his pocket. "Back on your feet…you think we're done?" he challenged, swinging it in wild arcs dangerously close to Slick's nose.

"I'm not afraid of you. The money is going to help those kids. I will not give it!" Slick obstinately refused, his steadfastness elegantly draping every syllable as he told off the gang.

"Yeah? I'd like to see you try and stop us!" the mugger warned, his words sopping with malice.

That malice manifested in the mugger's coal-black eyes. He darted forward, the knife tracking Slick's stomach. In a stroke of luck, the salesman was able to outmaneuver the assailant and parry the mugger's arm with his own. He twisted around and forced the knife away from his own body. The blade, glinting brightly in sparse moonbeams, pierced the man's shoulder, though it cost Slick a huge gash on his arm in the process. The mugger cried out in pain, "You little dipshit!"

Another attack - a slicing move. Slick had jerked sideways, preparing to lunge and slam an elbow into the mugger's orbital socket. But the mugger anticipated this, and managed to deliver a kick to Slick's gut, knocking him into one the alley's dirty walls. The mugger charged once more.

Slick desperately tried to hold him off. But his efforts failed. The knife stabbed deeply into his stomach. A moment of shock paralyzed him. Slick heaved as the guy twisted and then pulled the blade away, messily tearing the wound open. The knife glinted crimson, and specks spattered the pavement.

The mugger stepped back, a devilish grin contorting his face - an evil and satisfied look. Slick staggered sideways before he fell. There on the pavement, he laid on his back, the world around him dimming and chilling.

"Now that is what I call a one way trip to the emergency room. But first we'll be relieving you of the burden of your cash. And as an added bonus, we'll take everything you have. Except that busted wagon - that's all yours, mate. Alright boys, take all of it." The leader took a step forward and spat on Slick. "Good luck surviving the night, jackass"

Slick shifted a bit. The pain was blinding. "Hey - the more you move, the more it's gonna hurt. So lay still!" The mugger admonished his victim cheerfully as he ran a fingertip along the stained edge of the blade. A few more dark drips fell from the bloody tip.

"You're a true psycho, boss," a sycophantic goon added.

"Tell me about it. But to be fair, this guy didn't put up a proper fight - a little outta his league," the mugger remarked, flourishing by pointing his blade at Slick.  
Slick could only manage a weak moan while his muggers gloated. Images lost their resolutions. The little color of the night faded to gray, then black.

* * *

As Heckler neared the end of Waa Road, he happily whistled some tune he had picked up from somewhere long forgotten. The melody gave him more of a spring in his step, and he accelerated his pace, anxious to get home. The walk was smooth - no more interruptions from unsavory characters. Not until the muffled curses floated by.

A group of three men, slinking around in the telltale fashion of ne'er-do-wells, were messing with a pile of junk, gloating about something - he needed to blink a few times to realize that something was a twitching leg. That was plenty of suspicious activity to spook him. "Thieves, prostitutes, hobos, they're all over in this part of the island." He gathered his wits. "I'd better call the cops."

He extracted his phone, stowed away in a pocket of his backpack and used chiefly for emergencies, and immediately dialed 911.

"911. What's your emergency?" the female dispatcher answered.

"Hello, police, I need to report a disturbance on Waa Road, near the corner of Rice Street. Someone is being mugged right now, as we speak," his voiced stiffened.

"Alright. Get yourself to a safe location. Units will be there soon, sir. Can you stay on the line-" He muttered a quiet curse after he hung up a bit too early.

"Oh well, they got the message. And she made a good point - I'd better lay low before I get mugged, too." He figured he could sneak over to the street corner, under the bright lights of a busy throughway. But just as quickly as his mind constructed its plan, an unsettling feeling stopped him. The moans and groans that emanated from the owner of the twitching leg were all too familiar, as if he had heard the noise once before. "Where have I heard that sound?" he spoke aloud, his mind hoping to divine an answer.

Heckler decided to half-heed the dispatcher's instructions and instead investigate more closely from an adequate safe spot. He carefully stooped down, positioning himself behind the tire well of a nearby parked car. A bit closer now, the moans were morphing into a clearer plea. "Someone help me!"

His mouth dried. His limbs quaked. A moment in utter silence, disbelief. "No way, that can't be him."

The panic set in fast. Heckler's heart raced wildly. He shook his head vigorously, stopping the formation of worst-case images and pretend catastrophes. All in his head - it had to be! He stepped along the chassis, and then peeked from the taillights to spot the thugs surrounding their victim. They pummeled the guy with constant shouts and kicks.

"How you like your customers now, you stupid son of a gun," one guy spat as he kicked the man who was sprawled on his side.

"Wow, how rude and hurtful - and I should know as much. But this, absolutely ridiculous…" the orange fur ball opined.

Heckler expected to see a plain fellow that was having an exceptionally bad day - a poor sap, to be sure. Instead, in the moonlight and clear as day, he saw Slick taking a boot to the gut. Heckler blinked a few times, and shook his head to clear it. He examined the guy on the ground again, searching for the trademark straw boater hat. It had been cast aside, but it was still noticeable even after it had been crumpled, likely beyond repair.

The poor sap was actually his best friend. A best friend who could be very near to losing his life. The thugs were killing his friend, and Heckler sat behind the car, hiding in cowardice.

A spark ignited. Muscles tensed. A fury rose. He leapt out from behind the car. "Hey assholes! Let him go!" The power of Heckler's voice surprised even him. The booming sound had the thugs jumping.

"Let's take it all and go before cops get here!" roared their obvious leader. The three hid a wad of cash and every trinket they had gathered from the ground in a burlap sack, and dashed away from the crime scene.

"Yeah, that's right, you better run! And I, I…oh man, I can't believe I was so stupid!"

As he berated his heroically dumb move, he missed a step and fell face first onto hard pavement. His best friend groaned, and Heckler stood up as quickly as his legs would let him, and he ran to Slick's side.

"Come on dude, let's get you somewhere safe." He got Slick on his feet, and together they hobbled to a nearby parking lot. Heckler managed to lay him against a wall. Once Heckler let go, Slick plopped down gently. Heckler knelt down next to him, tending to his wounds. The blood rapidly stained his hands, his fingers dripping crimson all over the place.

"What did those guys do to you?" Heckler asked in a disbelieving whisper, fighting back a powerful sob.

"They stole…everything…" Slick coughed.

"In his haste to save Slick, Heckler hadn't noticed the gear, usually piled high in that wagon, had been missing. Now out of immediate danger, the loss became evident - especially the money Slick had worked so hard to earn.

"Those bitches!" Heckler swore under his breath. His hands curled into angry fists, and his temple pulsed when he thought back on those braying thugs. He ran a free hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut tightly to dam the tears.

Minutes ticked by before he could bear to look again at the salesman. "Just relax, man. The ambulance will be here any minute. And I'll talk to Officer Kahiko - I know he'll catch those stupid criminals, don't you worry."

Silence filled the deserted parking lot.

"Slick? Slick! Answer me!" Failing to get a response, Heckler slapped the right side of his friend's face, to rouse him to consciousness. "Please stay with me Slick. Hang on tight, I promise I will not leave your side, no matter what!" He buried his face into Slick's dirtied fur, tears already soaking through his delicate pink pelage.

He felt time was running short. He hurriedly pulled out his phone and called 911 once more. "Hello, where are you guys?" he demanded. His voice shook like dead leaves in the wind, and he wished he didn't sound like a child on the verge of a tantrum.

"We're only a few blocks away, sir. We'll get there as soon as we can. The ambulance is on its way, too," the voice from the other line responded.

"Hurry please! I'm begging you, my friend might not make it!" Heckler hung up the phone and chucked it into his backpack.

Half an hour elapsed, and still no sign of the ambulance. Heckler took matters into his own hands. "Alright Slick, I know that paramedics are on their way, but I'm going to apply pressure on the wound to stop the blood flow. I just hope my two weeks of first aid training will come in handy." He moved his shaking hands toward the glowing red stain marring Slick's stomach, and pressed down gently. Almost instantly, Slick whimpered in pain, like an animal trapped in a corner.

Slick was worsening, no doubt still in shock following his assault. Luckily for him, Heckler began pulling his wits together, and planned how he was going to keep his friend alive. He whipped out a towel from his backpack and wrapped it around Slick, who was shivering from the cold. "Here we go, yeah, I think this towel is big enough for your size."

A few minutes later, Heckler knew the towel was definitely doing a good job of keeping Slick warm.

"There, that'll keep you cozy for the time being." His face lit up as he lay down beside the salesman. And there in that parking lot, with the whole of the world against them, all Heckler wanted was to feel the warmth of Slick loving him in return.

"Thank you…" the salesman sobbed, wiping his eyes with the side of his muddy hand. That hand fell inches from Heckler's blood-smeared face. His own hands were soaked in Slick's blood, but he didn't care. He just held Slick close to him, first his hand and then his body, terrified to let go.

"And if they ever come back, Slick, they're going to have to face me. I may be small, but I'm feisty when I need to be. No one dares threaten my friends like that."

It began to rain, a torrent of chilly droplets that pinged as they hit the asphalt. Heckler was no longer certain whether the water streaming down his face was a river of rain or tears. Both Slick and he were waterlogged. As the rain washed away the blood, into the sewer grate and out to somewhere far away, Heckler fretted. What infection would cold rain bring? He studied his friend's wound, cleaner but in greater peril, and then checked for a pulse on Slick's neck. Thankfully, his friend's heart still beat, but it was agonizingly weak. Slick groaned incoherently as Heckler desperately kept a dressing on the injury. But in the rain, nothing helped.

"Give me a break…as if things aren't bad enough already, now I have to deal with bad weather!" yelled an impotent Heckler.

No sooner did the shouts bounce off the wall than did the beautiful wailing sirens grace their ears. Help had arrived. "Hang in there buddy," he pushed Slick. "You'll be at the hospital soon." Heckler nodded, his face ashen.

The ambulance pulled up in front of them. Several paramedics poured from the back and placed Slick on a stretcher. "Are you coming with us, sir?" one paramedic asked.

"Of course I am! Just look at the guy. You think I'm just going to stand around here like a statue and leave him!" Heckler objected. The paramedic didn't resist, and Heckler hopped into the back of the ambulance. A second paramedic handed him a fresh cloth to clean himself up. He scrubbed, and the cloth came away almost as bloody as his fingers still were.

"I forgot to ask - what's his name?" the female paramedic asked.

"It's…his name is Slick."

His duty discharged, Heckler let himself lean back, attempting to find comfort in the realization that Slick was in the hands of professionals now. They would help get him back on his feet in no time.

But for now, he hoped it would be over soon.

"This is going to be a long night," he whispered as his hand gently clutched Slick's paw. A single tear slid down Heckler's cheek, silent and slow.

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. Hospital Mischief

Took me longer to finish this chapter due to busy schedules and other commitments that need my attention, so sorry for the delay. In case you're wondering, I haven't abandoned this story completely, as my reason for leaving it out so long is due to writers block. But that's all over now so I'm beginning to write it again.

Though I gotta admit it's probably gonna be a while before I finish the 7th chapter. Anyways, here's the next one all laid out in text.

Heckler's adventure continues on...

Happy Reading!

* * *

"What do we have?" A frazzled-looking nurse asked, wrapping on a fresh gown and walked out of the hospital bay.

"A large, heavyset looking fella. He was a victim of a botched robbery"

_Heavyset? I'll teach you what heavyset means!_ Heckler glared mockingly – though impotently so – at the M.T.

Luckily for Heckler, the guy was too busy to pay attention to him.

Without a minute to spare, Slick was quickly rushed to the E.R. by nurses on duty. One of them had cordoned off the door. That was as far as Heckler could go.

"I'm sorry sir, but this area is off limits. You need to stay here in the waiting room."

The red neon sign above the entrance flashed brightly, denoting a operation in progress. Worn out and exhausted from all the running, Heckler stumbled and fell backward onto a green bench aligned with the wall. A long and tedious wait was expected.

From the outside, there was no way to tell what was happening to Slick. The details would remain scarce until someone came out and explained the full situation. And whatever prognosis Slick would face.

Heckler could do nothing but sit tight. Fear intensified and sunk deeply, and it took every ounce of strength he could muster to prevent a full on freak-out. He winced and became restless at every nurse's footfall and gurney's squeak. Things didn't get any better when he couldn't help but insult a little boy tirelessly running around the place.

"Hey kid, enjoying yourself there? Try savoring that lollipop because once it's gone, you'll never get it back"

The poor kid was startled and burst into tears. A wave of regret overcame Heckler. Now he needed to think about how best to handle this bawling child…and fast. Trouble would be coming in a second if the kid's parents found out. "It's ok, ssh sssh, don't cry now" he gently consoled him.

When that failed to appease the child, Heckler resorted to bribery. "Here's a quarter, go buy yourself some candy" He flipped the tender over to the boy. The coin flew directly in his hand. A wheeze turned into a smile. "Now isn't that adorable" Heckler rustled the hair on top of the little one's head.

"So, we good now?" The boy nodded in approval. Heckler seemed to be in good spirits with his new friend. "Now run along and have fun"

Driven by sugary instinct, the kid hurried off to buy some sweets. Once more crisis averted, Heckler turned his attention back to the real problem.

"I can do this, just calm myself down. These guys are certified professionals." Heckler composed himself with a few shaky breaths.

For now, he had to trust the hospital staff if there were any way to save the salesman.

And so Heckler sat silently for an hour.

The red light dimmed. A surgeon came out the door, removing his medical mask. "Mr. Heckler" he called out.

Nothing.  
The surgeon shot a second time "Mr. Heckler?" This time he raised his voice to separate his own from the din of the sick crowd.

"I'm here, hold your horses" Heckler spat when he finally caught the doctor's voice.

"Are you Mr. Heckler?" the surgeon asked.

"I am. What's up, doc?"

"Come with me"

Heckler followed the man covered in bloody scrubs down a hall. One room, two rooms, three rooms back. Each step worsened the congealed fear in his gut. Heckler swallowed as the doctor stopped and pivoted in front of a closed oak door.

Heckler fought to remain steady before finding out Slick's ultimate fate.

"For the moment, your friend is unconscious, and needs to be under constant watch." The doctor softened, relaxed a bit "Though I can assure you that he'll be alright"

"Thank goodness for that"

The orange fuzz ball took the news like a champ. There was no reason to ask why. The man's genuine expression was slight confirmation that Slick is indeed safe.

"After you, sir. Please" The doctor opened the door. The metronomic beep of a heart monitor spilled out into the sterile hallway. The doctor motioned for Heckler to enter. One step. Then another. The door closed behind him.

A tentative knock on the door. Before Heckler could answer, the door creaked as the knob slowly turned.

A young female doctor, around mid-20, stepped into the room, her clipboard in hand. The minute she went in, there was lightness in her steps.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Julianne Harvey. You can call me Doc Julie for short."

Heckler turned his full attention to the doctor as soon as he got a glimpse of her. She did what any normal doctor would do – check the health status of her patients.

"So we begin by assessing the patients' caretaker. First of all, how are you related to the patient?" Her hand was involuntarily jotting down important information.

"Oh um, I'm his cousin" He gave her a wary nod.

"Any _other_ confidential information you might want to share?" She added.

If the doctor was trying to trick or getting him to open up his feelings for Slick, Heckler wouldn't say a word. He knew when to step back before it would raise some eyebrows. He was, in a sense, glad to withhold that information. It was a good thing, because she probably would've freaked out.

"No, nothing else. Just your two regular BFF genetic experiments"

If only the doctor knew.

"You mean one of those genetic alien experiments running around the island?" Her subtle voice bounced through the four corners of the room.

Heckler didn't know whether to feel scared or relieved. After all, most humans aren't always the friendly type when it comes to extraterrestrials. He stiffened visibly at the mention of the word 'Alien'.

"Yeah, both of us are aliens, why? You got something against us lady?" Heckler sneered, sensing possible hostility toward him and Slick.

"Oh nothing like that, we love the experiments. In fact, we've got several of your cousins working at the hospital, you'll probably meet one of them sooner or later!"

Her act of simple honesty broke down any barriers that would've otherwise kept both parties on opposing ends. Heckler dropped the sneer painted across his face.

"Alright, glad we're one and the same. So uh, how is he Doc?" Heckler asked, eager for a response from the physician.

"Vital signs are stable for now, but we need more time to monitor him just to be sure. He's still under critical care."

"How long would that be?" Curiosity had gotten the best of him.

"I'd say about 3 weeks would be sufficient. I…hate to be the bearer of bad news but the cut was deep, not to mention the bruises he took from his attackers. He's going to be fine nonetheless, but it'll take time" She was able to give Heckler some good news about Slick's condition.

To be told twice by two different doctors lifted an enormous pressure off his shoulders. He drew a deep breath, felt it energize every muscle fiber, and then continued.

"You gave me quite a scare doc"

"I'm a bit surprised myself. From the looks of it, I'd say your friend took up quite a beating"

"A real trooper, no doubt," Heckler smiled in satisfaction "I've known this guy for a while and he's a real dynamo when it comes to protecting the things he loves"

"Well I'm glad he's got someone who cares for him. And you should be proud! You're a hero – you saved his life. That's something he's going to be grateful for someday." She commended the insulter for stepping up and taking charge when no one else did.

Heckler, on the other hand, had other things going on his mind.

"I don't know if _hero_ is the right word for it…" Doubt loomed large "But I guess you can say I came at the right time."

"The things we do for the people we love… Well, I have other patients I need to attend to. If you guys need anything, just page the nurses' station downstairs."

He nodded. "You got it doc, and thanks again"

Heckler chuckled gently as he watched her retreating form.

She gave him a sly, but suspicious wink before she exited the room. The door closed behind with the physician heading off to her next patient. The stunned experiment shook his head a little at her teasing tone, whilst somehow maintaining a straight face.

Still standing in the doorframe, Heckler's heart quickened. "Does she know? Nah, probably not!"

One glance tells him precisely what it is. He let out a short grunt to hide his discomfort.

This was bad news.

"If word gets out that I have a crush on this guy, people could either love me or hate me for holding it in for so long" He told himself.

Heckler's opinion is that if people want to intrude on his inner social life, they'd have to meet several conditions. Most of them would probably bail, as getting through all that arduous process could mean that their head could not contend with all the complex things he planned.

"She's probably just being nosy" He muttered to no one in particular "The doctor hardly knows a thing or two about me. No one, but me alone, will ever understand what I'm going through anyway"

Taking a deep breath, he freely let all the air out. He stretched the upper appendages above his head before turning his attention to Slick.

"He's probably going to be fine" he whispered, squeezing his eyes to block out everything he doesn't want to imagine right then. Now was not the best time for negative thoughts.

He opened his mouth, trying to form something coherent. Yet, silence persisted, growing more uncomfortable with the passing heartbeats bleating on the monitor.

He felt stunned not knowing what to do.

An immure loudmouth without words. Nothing Heckler could think of seemed right. He couldn't look away, seeing him all battered and bruised, yet he had hoped for nothing but the best.

"Or should I assume the worst?" He abruptly added.

No sooner had he uttered those horrible words, he realized it a pretty stupid thing to say to a good friend. He needed to be serious and this situation was clearly a testing ground for him, both mentally and physically, yet his only main concern was to keep Slick alive.

_No, he isn't alright_

_He wouldn't be alright_

_Not until I know for sure_

Standing by his side, he cared for him, a lot. Being close friends, they not only trusted each other and respected each other but they formed a strong bond as well. There was no way Heckler was going to run away and leave Slick falling by the wayside. Not now, not ever.

The salesman's slow recovery in the next few hours will make all the difference, but if the professionals responsible for him mess up, Heckler could lose him for good. The orange insulter will be damned if he let that happen. Not after he's fought so hard just to keep Slick alive.

Setting down for the night quickly became the best decision. A well-deserved rest near Slick's bedside. Heckler pulled up a chair and sat on the left side of Slick's bed.

He got down to his feet and shut off the lamp beside him, letting moonbeams peak through the glass window.

He shifted uncomfortably as he hugged his knees while the blanket wrapped him tightly. He tried to pack in as much warmth as he could.

He'd barely dozed off when a clap of thunder jarred him awake. "Son of a…can a guy get some decent sleep around here?" He fumbled in frustration.

Reclining his back to a more comfortable position, Heckler soon began to shut down.

No less than a minute later, the room lapsed into silence, save for a tree branch rustling against the sides of the old concrete walls of the hospital.

With the noise finally dwindling down, sleep found its way to the tired experiment.

A second clash of thunder rang through the air. It stirred Heckler awake as he jumped to his senses. _Curse that thunderstorm_. There wasn't an easy way to tell how much time had passed – still too dark to tell.

"Ugh, how long was I asleep?" His voice felt tired.

Lifting himself up from a slouching position, he turned his head to the salesman who was fast asleep on the bed. Heckler gently placed his hand on his side wistfully as he gave him a reassuring smile.

He quietly watched the salesman slumped heavily on his bed, concentration and earnestness apparent all over Heckler's face.

The orange fuzz ball rubbed his neck, feeling like the world's biggest fool.

_Please be alright, Slick. I need you bro._

Just then, the salesman's left palm twitched. Heckler's droopy ears perked up once he sensed Slick about to speak.

But against his expectations, the anticipated reply was not what he had hoped for.

"_You…you stared at me getting beaten up by crooks like a coward! Why?!"_ Slick's accusing tone resonated around the room.

"I…I didn't know it was you! I'm sorry!" Heckler quickly bit his lip.

His voice rivaled that of the distant clashing of thunder outside.

"_I could've been dead. Don't you care for me anymore?"_

_Don't you care. _Heckler was souring inside, but hid it with a plain face.

"You know that's not true Slick. We've been best friends ever since the Leroy's attacked us. You know I'd never abandon you in any way. I…I…" Heckler wanted to send the conversation in a different direction, but the feeling lingered too long. Pressure built. He was unable to hold it in.

"I like you!"

Those three simple words he dreaded saying, yet wanted to for so long. His whole body went utterly still, shame was gripping the guy from inside out.

Heckler let his guard down. His heart rate accelerated as he waited for Slick's reaction.

"_Hmph"_ A reply comes out in a rushed, but irked tone.

Out of options, Heckler was forced to use an agitated taunt in order to get a more satisfied response "Come on halfwit! Is that all you have?" He challenged Slick.

There was silence.

"Hello?! Don't leave me hanging here!" Heckler was edging for an answer but got no response.

"Slick?" He called out his name once more before he turned on the light and realized Slick was only talking in his sleep.

Comfort blossomed, knowing he got away with it – and his secret, still tucked away in his confused little mind.

"For the love of…he's only talking in his sleep" Heckler face palmed. _Great job stupid, keep it up!_

Heckler felt relief and, if he was honest, just a tiny bit smug.

This was a terrible way to admit what he truly felt about Slick. It hurt having to keep mum about it, but sometimes, that's the most rational and reasonable thing Heckler would be willing to risk.

"Phew! That was close. I need to remember when to keep my mouth shut!" As he took his seat again and waited to sleep to bless him once more, he hoped he could avoid unleashing such careless drivel again.


End file.
